#217 v15,10.114

20th anniversay issue #4
LYN LIFSHIN : SCHEHERAZADE, AS THE SUN GOES DOWN
LYN LIFSHIN : EVEN BEFORE THE POND FROZE

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LYN LIFSHIN
SCHEHERAZADE, AS THE SUN GOES DOWN

Maybe she thought of him as a child asking to be told about a past dream, or some familiar story never ending as it did. She knows his tantrums, the knives in his eyes. Others haven't made it, escaped, stayed alive. But she's got a stone-strong, wild, riveting plot. No, plots, and images to keep him as glued to her as if she was stripping, revealing slices and flashes of an exotic sexy body. She's a quick change artist, her stories the cape the bull of his appetite tries to gore. There are bodies stock- piled before her. She is steely, fanatically bright. Their nights are brilliant blue. Like a magical tree's never ending explosion of plums, she spins stories he can't help but lust for more of, each one more tantalizing

POETRYREPAIRS #217 v15,10.114





LYN LIFSHIN
EVEN BEFORE THE POND FROZE

there were traces, even before blood leaves fell from the oak, the feathers began to move closer. There were always some in the grass the mallards and wild geese grazed in. But these were totally white, smelling vaguely of roses. First I thought the scent was my own skin. Or the tea roses in the garden. But something wilder mixed in. I could feel a shadow, even in the brightest light, something like me but not me. Sometimes in the mirror, I feel her pale eyes right behind me like a daughter I never chose. If I knew Morse code, maybe Id have understood the tapping on glass at night. One morning an envelope with no postage appeared on the stairs and handwriting I had to put up to the mirror to read said, Ledas daughter, and I thought of the feathers rising up thicker, piling against lawn chairs on the deck until the sun goes. I think of a woman raped by a swan, her face white as lilies. Some thing dissolving the way men melted, snow on the battlefields in Fredericksburg. The flutter of wings and claws become shadows, the deepest black. Even now, this long later, it flutters over the grass, wild to soar above earth her mother was ground into, to use the wings that used her, soar above everything shes heard the stories of to re-define ravishing

POETRYREPAIRS #217 v15,10.114




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